The Art of Assassination
by soft words and airy touches
Summary: Beckett Oliver is the son of billionaire actor, Jameson Oliver. Jade is an assassin, who knows nothing about herself, that has been hired to kidnap him for ransom & if needed, kill him. But, when Jade gets in to deep, can she really kill him? -B/J-
1. Prologue

**a/n: well, beck / jade is my victorious OTP, & i was messing around with a few ideas, until this came to mind. &, well, who doesn't think that jade wouldn't make a bada$$ assassin?**

**DISCLAIMER: i own absolutely nothing, aside from the plot.**

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Jade was quiet as could be as she pressed herself against the wearing-thin, cardboard-like wall of a long abandoned apartment. The air smelt of cigarette smoke, she noted, as a gust of wind blew into her face. She directed her gaze away from the khaki walls, toward the brightly-lit streets of Hollywood. Her face took on a serious expression as she murmured to herself, "This won't be to easy."

She reached into her trench coat, grabbing at the holster of her weapon, her lifesaver; her gun. Being a hitman - or a hit_woman_, as she called herself - was a dangerous, life threatening task, and the only person you could trust was yourself. But half of the time, Jade didn't.

She had no idea who she was. It was so painful. Who was she, before she woke up into this life? Before she was trained and taught to feel no emotion, to only kill or kidnap who she was assigned to. What was her full name? How she wished the association would've told her. Did she have a family, or was she an orphan? Was she poor, rich, or somewhere in between? When was her birthday, where was she born, who were her friends? She gripped the handle of the gun tighter, cursing herself for becoming so weak, emotional, vulnerable. Why, if she were to even _ask _Sickowitz about who she was, he would hardly even hesitate to put a bullet through her head. After all, just because Jade was one of the best assassins, didn't mean that she couldn't very well be replaced.

Clearing her mind, she focused only on her task.

"Kidnap Beckett Oliver," she breathed.

Beckett Oliver was a handsome, interesting actor, not even Jade could deny him that. He had deep brown eyes, that reminded her of a swimming pool of chocolate. His hair wasn't exactly shaggy, but long and luxurious, and a beautiful ebony color. His skin was tanned, especially on his stomach, where a six-pack was visible through any shirt he wore. He was always wearing a flannel, no matter what the weather. In general, he was very attractive, and, for some reason, reminded her of an Arabian prince she could only faintly remember. He was born on May 27, 1995, in Hollywood's richest hospital, and he was of mixed decent (Caucasian and Indian, to be a bit more specific). His Indian mother, a singer, had died on September 19, 2001, in a brutal car accident on her way home from an eleven month tour. He had no stepmother, since his father never remarried.

But, even though he was goodlooking and there was a mystery to him, that was not the reason Jade was hired to kidnap, and possibly, assissante him. No, no, Jade was hired because Beckett Oliver was the son of the world's most famous, most amazing actor; Jameson Oliver.

Jameson Oliver was a handsome man, indeed, and it was no wonder where Beckett got his amazing good looks from; his father was fair skinned, with bright blue eyes, and blond hair, strikingly similar to the rays of the sun. Of course, one may question why they would look so similar, but they had the same beautiful, god-like facial features and body shape.

Realizing that she was beginning to fantasize about the actor's son, she reminded herself that he may not be living for long; his father was a multimillionaire, but he had opened his mouth one too many times, and the association was ready to either take his money, or take both his and his son's life. Either way worked for them.

She glared into the night, almost instantly spotting Beckett by the flocks of crowds and paparazzi that swarmed around him, and by the tall body guards that surrounded either sight of him. She put her gun up to the window sill, first pulling night-vision goggles over her sharp blue eyes, and glared down at the body guards. Target locked, she fired one shot after another at the three men, watching crimson blossom out of the hole just underneath the center of their clavicle. For god measure, she fired a few warning shots at the crowd of photographers, who soon tore away from the scene. With a Chesire cat grin, she tightened her grip on the gun, spotting the main-power cable she was looking for, just in between an alleyway. She pulled the trigger once, twice, three times, watching in marvel as the bullets whizzed through the air, cutting into the cords, and instantly shutting off the city's power.

Every light went off, and Jade turned on her goggles, finding Beckett once more. She looked at a fire escape ladder at the side of the window, and jumped onto it, still watching him as the ladder slid out from under her weight. She jumped off just before it hit the floor, and stuffed both her weapon and her glasses into her trenchcoat. She ran through the commotion, looking like a normal civilian, running away. Only, she was running toward the crime.

Beckett stood, staring down at his guards, and, presumably, his friends. She watched as people bumped into him and cursed his name; he was no longer the famous actor, he was like everyone else, and at that point, he didn't matter.

Within moments, she was next to him, pulling him away. It seemed to snap him right out of his shock as he began to thrash, curse, and scream at her, "Let go of me, _damn it!_ Let me go, let me go, _let me go! Help! Help!_"

Jade slammed him against a brick wall, holding onto his neck and pressing down against him, despite his obvious height advantage, hissing at him, "Say another goddamn word, and I'll put a bullet in your head faster then you can scream 'help me'."

He tried to put on a brave front, she noticed, but despite his impressive acting skills, fear shone plainly in his eyes. She smiled, sickeningly sweet, as she pulled him through the streets, into the back of a waiting van, that one of her fellow members, Sinjin, was driving. Before he could resist her, she locked the doors behind her. But, the boy was foolish. Desperate for a way out, he grabbed her and threw her forward, toward the glass wall that seperated the back of the van and the driver. He swerved slightly, but he soon gained the pace back, glaring over his shoulder at Beckett, who was struggling to unlock the door. But, she was far too quick for him. She tugged on his hair, pulling him away from the exit, and down, against the glass wall, tight against her body, crushing him against her pelvis and her breasts.

He panted heavily, spitting out like venom, "Who the _fuck_ are you, and what do you want with me?"

She looked at him through her eye lashes, biting off with the same amount of fury, "I'm your worst nightmare, and I suggest you _don't _fuck with me. I've been trained to _kill _people like _you_."

_That ought'ta shake him up, _she thought, but it 0only fueled his anger.

"What the hell do you want with _me_?"

"It's not what I want from you. It's from your father. My corporation wants your father's money. Oh, and I suggest you play nice with me," she gave him a sly, almost suggestive smirk, "I'm your assassin, after all."

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**a/n: so, how was that for a prologue? what do you guys think so far? i know it may be a bit OOC, but i'm doing the best i can.**

**so, R&R?**


	2. It Suits You :: Chapter One

**a/n: well, here's another chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: i own absolutely nothing, aside from the plot.**

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The van ride back to the hideout was long, and uneventful. Jade said nothing to Beckett as he hung his head, murmuring the same words, words she couldn't read, over and over again. It intrigued Jade, but at the same time, angered her beyond explanation. She reached back into her trench coat, pulling out the gun, and smacking him over the head with it. Scarlet bloomed from the gash on the back of his head, hidden by his long, dark hair. He yelled out in pain, jumping away from her, and instantly grasping onto the back of his head. He cursed silently, taking his palm off of the wound to see that the blood now stained his fingers. He looked up, his glare filled with spite and hatred as he bitterly snapped, "What the fuck was _that _for?"

"Well, Oliver," she bothered not to call him by his first name, leaning against the doors and studying her bitten-down nails in a bored manner, "I couldn't understand what you were saying, and that angered me."

"You have serious issues!" Beckett hissed, trying to appear calm, holding his head in his hands once more.

At this, Jade only smirked, shook her head, brown locks flying gracefully, and uttered in return, "Oh, _sweet, little _Oliver, you don't have a clue."

His face contorted into - what was that? Disdain? Disgust? And why did she even _care?_

"I hate you," he spat, his tone low, surprisingly calm, but his eyes held his anger. The swirls of chocolate had a certain fire, that scared Jade, but, at the same time, attracted her, almost like a magnet. It was undeniable, how he made her feel fear, and desire at the same time. All though, she'd never admit it out loud.

"Oh, Oliver," Jade laughed, ignoring her feelings and the thoughts swirling in her head, twirling her gun in her hands and continuing to rock her head from side to side, "You _hardly _even know me."

"I know enough!" he shouted, and Jade suppressed a flinch at his sudden reaction, "You're a horrible person. You don't deserve to live, all you do is take, take, take, take lives. Take something that you can _never _get back. _Never._"

She raised a silent, and suspicious eyebrow, before murmuring under her breath, knowing just what button to push and card to play, "Abha Catherine Oliver, formerly Abha Catherine Delji. Born July 16, 1972, at 6:02 in the morning. Killed September 19, 2001, 9:17 at night. Was driving at 80 miles per hour, when she spotted a Yorkshire terrier less then fifty feet away. As I have read, she was a dog lover. She swerved and missed the dog, but unfortunately, swerved right into a 20 foot high, 50 pound metal pole, with a brightly lit light bulb. It could not withhold the weight of the car, so it topped over, through the sunroof. The windshields and left side window was broken, and the remainder was cracked, as well as the light bulb that had shut off in the commotion. She died on impact of the crushing. Her demise was painless," she paused, and looked directly at him, "Did I take _her _life, Oliver?"

She saw his expression go blank, and him advert his eyes in pain, or embarrassment, she wasn't quite sure. He asked, voice dangerously quiet, "How did you know?"

"I'm an assassin, Oliver. I do my own goddamn research."

"Stop calling me that!" he shouted, catching Jade off guard. She looked at him, her eyes slighter wider, but they returned to their normal size within an instant. He breathed in through his nose, out his mouth, then whispered, "Stop calling me that."

"I'll call you whatever I want to call you!" she suddenly yelled, pointing her gun at him, finger on the trigger, "I give the orders around here, kid!"

"Kid?" he gave a humorless laugh, shaking his head, "I can handle myself, I'm no kid."

"Shut the hell up!"

"Or what?"

"Or," she gulped - why was she hesitating? She should've blown his brains out, but her heart clenched at the thought of seeing his beautiful brown eyes close, forever, "Or I-I'll shoot you!"

He gave a smirk, too cocky for his own good, as he laughed again, bitter, and cold, "You won't shoot me. You can't. Your hands are shaking. What are you, scared? Some assassin you are."

She looked down, and, sure enough, her hands were quivering. What was her problem? She was trained to kill, why was he any different?

"Damn you," she angrily spat after a few moments of silence, shoving the weapon back into her trench coat and yelling, "I can kill you if I want, but I'm not giving up this ransom, your father won't pay as much if I kill you!"

He just turned away from her, staring at the blank walls in triumph. She tightened her fists, the skin on her knuckles glowing white with her fury.

"Beck."

"What?" she asked, her gaze snapping in his direction.

"My name's Beck. Not Oliver."

"I already knew that, you dumbass!" Jade hissed, before crossing her arms over her chest.

"And you?"

"What do you mean, 'And you?'" she mimicked, mocking his every word. The corner of his mouth turned up at her anger. She felt her cheeks become warmer . . . was she blushing?

"What's your name?"

She paused, almost saying, 'I don't know.' But giving in, she replied, "Jade."

"It suits you."

She glared at him intently, before Sinjin knocked on the glass window that separated them. They had arrived.

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**a/n: so, i know it may be a little bit rushed, but i wanted to show how jade is already affected by his presence. because, after all, she's never handled taking an attractive boy her own age captive. i know it may be a bit OOC, but i'm doing the best i can.**

**so, R&R?**


	3. Succumbing to His Fate :: Chapter Two

**a/n: well, here's another chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: i own absolutely nothing, aside from the plot.**

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The hideout wasn't anything special, to be quite frank, located in the outskirts of some up-North town. It was a simple two-story, with a dull white, almost gray, paneling, an ash-colored roof, with a few tiles missing here and there, and a plain, forest green door. His eyes scanned the house for any windows, any escape. None. Go figure.

_It could be worse,_ Beck noted, before allowing his dark eyes to rake up the pale assassin's body, _a bald, creepy fat guy could've been hired to get rid of me. Wait a minute - pull yourself the _fuck _together, Beck! You are not supposed to be thinking about your extremely hot assassin!_

But, it was very difficult for him to not give her credit; full, plump pink lips, luscious, dark brown curls that smelling ever-so-faintly of mangoes, big, beautiful blue eyes, curves in all the right places . . .

_No, _He stopped himself, glaring at the back of her head as she roughly pushed open the doors and stepped out. He felt his mouth form into a thin, grim line, _she could kill you any second. Don't show fear. Keep bluffing. Just keep bluffing._

Beck was snapped out of his train of thought when piercing blue eyes caught his gaze, and an angry voice snapped, "Hurry up, Oliv - _Beck. _I don't have any time to waste!"

He crawled in towards her, ignoring the pain that was in his wrists, the circulation that had been cut off with the cuffs she had forced him into. He refused to look her in the eyes, finally able to get out of the uncomfortable mini-van. Jade grabbed him by the chain of his cuffs, forcing his back against her. He forced himself to clear his mind of his dirty thoughts, attempting to ignore the feelings of her pressed up to him, her breasts on his back. She pushed him toward the drivers door, where Sinjin rolled down the window so that Jade could speak.

"Sinjin, I need the keys."

"Here," he picked up a key off of the center of the dash, then revved his engine. Jade looked at him skeptically, pierced eyebrow raised.

"What're you doing, Vancleef?"

"I'm leaving. Back to headquarters, you know?"

"Uh, no! You're supposed to stay in case he," she paused to push Beck forward and back against her, "Tries to leave."

"Sorry, Jade," he said, shaking his head slowly, "Not my job. You're on your own."

"Wh-Wh - _Sinjin_!" Jade screeched as the older boy pulled back and away from her, speeding off, North. Jade gasped, looking dumbfounded. Then, her brows furrowed, and she looked at Beck, "So . . . that means I'm left with you, Oliver."

Beck felt startled, but had a good enough poker face to keep his shock and fear suppressed. After all, his life ambition was to act, and what perfect time to pretend you weren't cared then when you're kidnapped and held for ransom? He stared at the bleak looking house, a frown coming onto his grim features, looking back at Jade, and giving her a smirk, "I guess that's so, Jade. So, now, what does that mean? You're going to kill me while we're here, like the dozen others you probably knifed, ditch my body in a lake in the mountains, and head for Canada?"

She looked up at, frowning, and shaking her head, "I haven't killed dozens of people," she smirked condescendingly, sending a shiver up Beck's spine, "You'd be my first. Feel honored."

_Get your mind out of the gutter, dumbass!_

Jade gave a simple laugh that contained no humor, shoving him toward the house without another word. He stumbled, but managed to regain his footing as they approached the green wooden door. He glared at the knob, knowing that as soon Jade opened it and forced him into the house, his life was over, his life no longer even his.

As soon as her grip loosened, just the slightest, and her attention was momentarily torn from him to the rusty doorknob, he ripped his cuffed wrists away from her grasp and tore off toward the dirt road. He ran, but didn't know where to go. He saw no asphalt, no signs indicating where to go, no signs of life, only dirt and yellow grass and dying trees.

He felt her jump on his back, tackling him to the dirt ground. He winced as his chest collided with the cracked, somewhat rocky surface, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth in hopes of ignoring the pain that bloomed in his torso.

Beck grunted when she pressed her weight down on him, straddling his back. He felt her lean forward and whisper against his ear, "Nice try, Beck. But there's no civilization for about thirty-two miles, and that's a long trip for a sheltered actor like you to take on your own, much less with me hunting you down and planning the ways to torture you once I've found you again."

He suppressed a shudder, knowing that she lived for his ever-present fear. She grabbed him by the handcuffs, forcing him to a stand. He obliged, knowing that fighting was not an intelligent decision, that she might actually follow through with her many threats. What would happen to his father, if he died? He had contemplated suicide for a few months after his mother died; the only thing that kept him from actually killing himself was Beckett himself. If he was murdered by this intriguing, but dangerous girl, it would be the end of the Oliver family.

Succumbing to his fate, he stepped into the open door.

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**a/n: sorry it took so long, i had a bit of writer's block. this was mainly a filler, while the real stuff is building up.**

**so, R&R?**


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